Not a Dream: Behind Blue Eyes
by LadyoftheDrow
Summary: When Deepground came for Genesis, someone else got to him first . . . but how the hell did he wake up in the SOLDIER apartments? Time-Travel Fic.
1. 00  A Different Ache

**A/N: **_Oh, look! A Genesis back-in-time Fanfic! This is one of the many things I work on when I'm stuck on my other stories. I __**hate **__forcing myself to write through a Block. Instead, I work on something else until I get inspired. This story also has an accompanying fic, but due to how they connect, I won't post even the first chapter of "Bite Your Tongue" until I'm further in this one, despite the fact that the first chapter of BYT was completed weeks before I completed this chapter._

_**WARNING: **Yes, this fic does have -gasps- Original Characters! within it. But seriously, I use OCs to give my writing more substance, I'm not going to shove a pairing in your face. This story is about **GENESIS**, not an OC. There will be small-time OCs throughout this fic, but there are only two 'important' OCs that I plan to use. One of which is only going to be in a few chapters much, much, much later in the story and only has a pairing 'off-screen'. The other, Ruth, will have re-occurring appearances but will **NOT **be paired with Genesis or any other main canon character. If I **DO **choose to pair her with a canon character, it will be a minor character and for the most part **off-screen. **Ruth is designed as a comrade and 'older sister' type character, not a romantic interest, but even 'older sisters' need some love. Might I reiterate that this fic is about **Genesis**? Though, Sephiroth, Angeal, Cloud and Zack are all considered secondary main characters.  
_

* * *

No one knows what it's like  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
Behind blue eyes  
And no one knows  
What it's like to be hated  
To be fated to telling only lies

But my dreams they aren't as empty  
As my conscience seems to be  
I have hours, only lonely  
My love is vengeance  
That's never free

No one knows what its like  
To feel these feelings  
Like I do, and I blame you!  
No one bites back as hard  
On their anger  
None of my pain and woe  
Can show through . . ._  
_

**"**_**Behind Blue Eyes"**_

* * *

**0-1-2-3-4-5**

**Not a Dream**

**Behind Blue Eyes**

"**A Different Ache"**

**0-1-2-3-4-5**

"_**Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul."**_

~_Loveless, Act II_

* * *

_Only a few minutes after Zack left him alone above the ruins of Banora, Genesis dimly heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He knew at once that it wasn't Zack, the steps were too light, too quiet. Each step was sure and even, landing precisely where it was meant to. Only his own sharp hearing allowed him to register the slight sound of the dirt shifting with the weight pressed into it._

_The footsteps were accompanied by the whisper of shifting leather as well as a quiet chime-like sound of metal glancing against metal. The person stopped right beside him and he heard leather creak in protest as they crouched, accompanied by the sound of something dragging through the dirt._

_Everything was still, and he could feel eyes on him, searching him for something. He shifted his head slightly, uncomfortable with the feeling of being watched so intently. The newcomer moved again, and this time he felt strong arms lift him and cradle his body like a child. There was something about the ease of the motion that caused Genesis to tiredly force his eyes open._

_Long silver bangs hung next to a pale-skinned chin. A high collar of black leather. He could feel the hardness of a pauldrons beneath his shoulder. He watched lazily as a black-gloved hand caught his Dumbapple before it could tumble free to the ground._

_Wop-Wop-Wop-Wop_

_Rather than move towards the sound of the approaching helicopter, his carrier seemed startled and arms tightened around him._

_Then he heard a familiar whistle and felt a series of droplets strike his face. At the same moment, he dazedly watched through heavy eyes as fragile flesh tore and silver was stained a darker shade of crimson than even his coat._

_Blood._

_Lips part in a pained grimace and he feels a jolt as . . . Sephiroth? . . . stumbles and falls on one knee with a gasp. Despite the situation, he found his eyes sliding shut again as consciousness escaped his grasp like grains of sand, but for one lingering thought._

_How could Sephiroth be there . . . when he had died five years ago?_

* * *

As Genesis returned to consciousness, he did a mental assessment of his body as sensation returned to him. The cold ache that had pained him for years with growing intensity was gone, leaving the healed flesh strong and sensitive enough that the seams of the shirt and trousers he was wearing made his skin itch with harsh irritation.

He was no longer wearing boots, gloves, or coat, he couldn't feel the pressure of his harness pressing through his shirt, or even the hard metal weight of the earring hanging from his right ear. A familiar, almost plush, give to the soft surface beneath him told him he was in a bed. Then his nose identified the subtle rose scent permeating the fabric.

The brunette opened his eyes to look at the familiar white ceiling, having slight trouble comprehending his situation with the lethargy that clung to his body. Why did he feel so tired? As if being cured had drained him of every last remaining drop of his energy . . .

He groaned as he finally acknowledged the sound of someone knocking on a door and swung his legs over the side of the bed as he sat up, steadying his head with a hand as his vision blurred for a moment. The carpet beneath his feet was a slate grey, soft but not plush and he stared at it for a moment, facts clicking together in his mind, even as he heard a rattle as a door was opened and someone entered.

Genesis finally lifted his head as he heard someone push open the half-shut door to the bedroom, rapping their knuckles on the dark wood in warning. The sight of the man caused the Banoran man's heart to skip a beat, all the pieces clicking into place.

The rose scent; the combination of white, blue, grey, and brown that colored the room; the way the sun filtered through the broad red curtain covering a window that took up a whole third of one wall . . . it was impossible.

"You're going to be late, Genesis." Angeal stated dryly, lips curving in a small smile. "What in Gaea's name were you up to last night?"

"I . . ." he shook his head, trying to shake the disbelief freezing his body in place. How could this be? He was certain this apartment was destroyed in his assault years ago . . . and Angeal was supposed to be dead! "Nothing, just tired."

"You certainly _look_ tired." His childhood friend's voice turned concerned and he found he couldn't drop his gaze, searching for some clue that this wasn't real, that it was all some dream . . . Except that Genesis had always been able to tell when he was dreaming.

"You aren't sick are you?" Genesis blinked, starting as he realized the other First was now crouching in front of him, reaching up with one hand when he didn't respond. "Well, you don't have a fever . . ."

"I'm fine." The brunette SOLDIER pushed Angeal's arm away, surprising himself with how much effort that small movement took to do, then finally tore his eyes away. Propping his head in his hands, he sighed tiredly, rubbing at his eyes.

Genesis heard the raven-haired man shift and cracked open his eyes to watch as he took a half-step back. When Angeal finally spoke again, Genesis felt his hand on his bare arm and looked up. "Get some rest."

"What about . . .?" he didn't know what he was supposed to be late for, was it a mission? A meeting? An appointment with Hollander? . . . he still wasn't sure he believed what was going on.

"I'll take care of it, you just . . . take it easy." He watched as Angeal's eyes flicked towards his left shoulder, "I'll stop by later."

"I . . ." he sighed again, dropping his arms. More sleeping did sound tempting . . . he was starting to get a headache from the sheer _impossibility _of this whole situation. Angeal was supposed to be dead. _Sephiroth _was supposed to be dead. He no longer worked for Shin-Ra, let alone lived in the SOLDIER apartments. Yet, the man in front of him looked like Angeal, _sounded _like Angeal, acted like Angeal, **Hell**, the man even _smelt _like Angeal.

Genesis was getting the strongest sensation of Déjà vu at the concern the raven-haired Banoran was offering . . . hadn't this been the same conversation they'd had the day after that spar when he'd begun to degrade? Almost word for word?

The ache was different, one of lethargy rather than sickness, but all the same . . . he wouldn't act the same as last time, he wouldn't shrug off his weakness this time.

He wouldn't be ungrateful for what he had a second time.

" . . . Thank you, Angeal."

The smile was worth it, he told himself in satisfaction, even if it was accompanied by a surprised look. After all he'd put Angeal through . . . He smiled back halfheartedly, wanting nothing more than to fall back into bed and close his eyes once more. To _escape._

"I'll be back in a few hours." Angeal nodded resolutely, concern flickering over his face again as he moved for the door.

"I'll be fine," he chuckled, mustering a grin as he watched his friend linger with his hand on the door, "Don't worry."

"I'll hold you to that." The taller man said seriously, but pulled the door shut all the same. Genesis sat there for several moments, listening to his friend walk across the apartment, and then the outer door open and shut.

He glanced back at the inviting red sheets of the bed, but instead of lying down, pulled his shirt over his head and stood, tossing the well-worn fabric at the basket beside his dresser. Pulling open a drawer, he pulled out a pair of loose sleep pants and quickly replaced what he was wearing with them, relishing the feel of the soft, seamless fabric on his irritated skin. As he lifted his arm to throw the discarded trousers in the basket as well, he paused and looked at his coat. It was in a pile on the floor near the basket, tossed aside haphazardly.

Dropping the clothing in the basket, he crouched down and picked the coat up, sitting heavily on the bed. His pale eyes searched the surface of the leather for what had caught his attention and found it almost immediately.

Blood.

Streaks of it marred the leather around the collar and he found himself wincing as he made out a fragment of bone here and a shred of skin there. Genesis' mind flashed back to those few half-awake moments . . . he remembered the shots and the sheer amount of blood, he was surprised none had gotten on his shirt. Angeal would have noticed. Judging by how the blood had flown, he was certain Sephiroth—it **must **have been Sephiroth—was hit in the neck at least once, maybe twice.

Had he survived that?

Genesis abruptly frowned as he noted something: the blood . . . was still fresh. _But that made no sense!_ He knew that he had been asleep for at least a few hours since that incident, the blood should be bone dry by now. Reaching out tentatively, he rubbed at one dollop and grimaced as it smeared easily across his fingertip.

"Impossibilities upon impossibilities. . . ." What in _Gaea's _**name **was going on?

He groaned and pressed his fist against his forehead as he felt a headache building, but stood and forced himself to continue. If this _was _Sephiroth's blood, whether it was the Sephiroth of this impossible now or a Sephiroth risen from the dead/near-dead, it could be devastatingly useful. He might be cured, but Angeal never was and if he could use _this _to save his 'brother' before degradation could get a hold on him, then he must do so.

Rising to his feet, he set the coat down on the bed, careful not to let any of the blood touch the sheets, before crouching down and pulling the medkit from underneath his bed. Snapping it open, he grinned as he found what he needed.

A series of unsealed glass ampules in various sizes, reaching out, he took one of the smallest ones, only a few centimeters in length, as well as an empty syringe. He was almost surprised at how easy it was to collect the blood, though the amount coating the leather was as worrisome as it's refusal to coagulate. It took him no time at all to fill the vial, and after a second thought, he used tweezers to add the bone fragment he had seen before.

Sealing the ampule was easy enough, he only had to use a localized and greatly weakened fire spell. Admittedly, he nearly burned his hand in doing so, but that was neither here nor there. Genesis stood to leave his coat on the desk to clean it later, only to realize Angeal would probably notice it when he came back, and being the tidy person he is, he would collect it to hang it up and doubtlessly ask far too many questions about the blood that _should not have been there._

The brunette sighed and rolled it up, shoving it underneath the bed along with the medkit. Ampule in hand, he glanced around, searching and grinned as he located his earring. A quick twist separated the earring into two parts, revealing an opening within which he slid the ampule, before twisting it closed once again.

Genesis let the earring dangle between his fingers for a moment, staring at it, then dropped it to the nightstand. A single solution in a web of confusion . . . he sighed heavily and sat on the bed once more.

He didn't understand it. This seemed to be the day after he had been injured, when he had begun to experience degradation. That chilling ache was absent, as if the past seven years were only a terrible dream. Raising his right arm, his eyes trailed over a scar from a wound inflicted by Zack in that last battle, it was still pink and fresh, newly healed, it might even not develop into a true scar like most materia-healed wounds did. That scar, combined with the other evidence, told him that he had someone physically been brought back. The question was . . . was this the work of the Goddess . . . or the Calamity?

And where was Sephiroth in all this?

Sephiroth should not have been there, he was long dead. Had he somehow survived? If so, why had he only shown himself then? Why did he wait so long and only reveal himself to Genesis _after_ he had been healed by the Goddess, after he had been defeated by Angeal's puppy. The last time he had seen Sephiroth, he alienated him, pushing the remnants of their strange friendship to the breaking point . . . and it had stung.

Genesis lay down on the bed, but didn't bother to pull the sheets back over his body as he stared at the far wall contemplatively.

It was too confusing, too convoluted, impossibility upon impossibility!

_Minerva, his head hurt._

Closing his eyes, he forced his questions into silence, rest would grant him the energy to find answers . . . and so he slept.

**0-1-2-3-4-5**

**0-1-2-3-4-5  
**

**A/N: **_You have to admit, having jewelry with secret compartments is rather like Genesis._


	2. 01 Letter Lost

**A/N: **_It is ridiculously frustrating to try to write with Genesis when I've got assassins, templars, dark elves and angels bouncing around inside my head. This of course, causes Genesis to seek refuge with Seph and Chaos… -sigh- He even dragged Angeal with him! And then when Genesis returned . . . he left Angeal behind and I had to bribe Chaos into bringing him back. _

_Also, second Quote is just for shits and giggles. ;p_

**0-1-2-3-4-5  
**

**Not a Dream  
**

**Behind Blue Eyes  
**

"**Letter Lost"**

**0-1-2-3-4-5**

* * *

"_**Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess."**_

_~Loveless, Act I_

"_**If you set my hair on fire, I'll kill you."**_

_~Me_

* * *

Angeal paused before his fist could strike the metal, then shook his head and with a flick, swiped his card through the lock without knocking. There was no need to wake Genesis if the dead-bolts weren't set. The lock clicked and he pushed the door open quietly, toeing off his boots and leaving them by the door on the rack set aside just for that purpose. He paused a moment to look over the footwear already there, in case Genesis had woken and left, but all were accounted for.

Shutting the door behind him, the blue-eyed First Class tilted his head slightly as he listened for any sound. Silence met his ears, and Angeal shoved down his immediate concern and moved to the bedroom. It was just as dimly lit as before, the crack of sunlight sifting through the curtains to illuminate the room. Genesis was lying on his side facing the door, much like when he had come in earlier. Unlike that morning, he was bare-chested, and the blankets were rumpled at his side.

Without thinking much of it, the younger Banoran stepped forward and pulled up the blanket to cover his old friend. He paused, fingers lingering over the brunette's shoulder and frowned in confusion. Leaning over Genesis for a better look, his eyes widened when he realized _the bandage was gone. _His fingers traced over bare unblemished skin . . . and a sigh of relief escaped his lips. It had finally healed.

"Thank the Goddess." He murmured and pulled the blanket up higher. A smile crept onto his lips at the peaceful expression on his old friend's face and he pulled away.

Turning to leave, he caught sight of a spot of white out of the corner of his eye and turned to face the bookcase only feet away. Unerringly, his eyes landed on a piece of paper propped against one of the many books. It was folded into a triangular shape, like one of those paper 'footballs' he saw many city recruits make when they were bored. There was something written on it . . . without thinking twice about it, he reached up and plucked it off the shelf. The letters shown starkly against the lily-white paper; a deep spilt-blood red that he recognized as ink from one of Genesis' favored pens.

_For Genesis_

Angeal turned the oddly folded paper in his hands, feeling the weight of something shifting inside with a metallic _chink_. He didn't recognize the handwriting, but the controlled chaos of the sloping letters almost impatiently scrawled across the page led him to believe it was a woman. There was a rough beauty to them, showing that the scribe cared for appearances but did not put extensive effort into them. A small smile snuck onto his face at the thought.

Yes, Genesis had dated before, but the relationships had never lasted very long at all. Most of the women who were persistent enough to come in contact with the red-clad Banoran . . . were either secretaries, members of his fanclub, or both. The simple fact that this stranger had written a note . . . spoke volumes of their character.

The presence of the object inside, a piece of jewelry, led him to one of two conclusions, either it was a gift to Genesis, or a _returned _gift. He had never known Genesis to give jewelry to others, so he felt the former was more likely than the latter.

Angeal chuckled and shook his head, returning the letter to the shelf, propping it back up so that his friend could catch sight of it. Throwing one last glance back at the dead-to-the-world brunette, he left the room and moved towards the kitchen. The healing combined with his sleeping in would guarantee he'd be hungry when he woke.

Angeal never saw the letter flutter in a non-existent wind, a wisp of blue-green light swirling around it until it slid off the back of the shelf. The crisp white envelope hit the carpet with a muted thud, the paper crinkling in one corner, crushed by the weight of the contents. The dust in the dark crevice whirled, and that same darkness revealed a soft blue-purple glow seeping through the pores of the envelope.

**0-1-2-3-4-5**

_Turquoise light had Genesis looking around him in surprise as he slowly got to his feet. The Lifestream again? But . . . why? He heard a whisper of fabric and looked up. Minerva…._

"_Tell me, pawn of Calamity . . ." she narrowed her eyes warningly and he found himself wanting to take a step back, but he held his ground, his own eyes widening in surprise. Those eyes did not hold the disappointment of her older self, they held suspicion and anger."What does she seek to gain by placing you here?"_

_Calamity? So it was Jenova's work that sent him to this time? Or did she assume Sephiroth was doing her will? His eyes narrowed in indignation, "I am no one's pawn."_

"_Perhaps not knowingly," she acquiesced, tilting her head. "But your presence here in this time is her work all the same. You bear her cold stench on you, and she has seen into your mind. I can feel her touch on you." Stepping closer to him, the goddess reached out and traced a small shape on his forehead that only she could see with a single finger, then dropped her hand. Her voice was tinged with dark fury. "She has seen what drives you, your weaknesses, your vices, what you hold most dear. She will use that knowledge to bend you to her will. You __**are**__ a pawn, Genesis Rhapsodos . . . and you do not belong here."_

"_I . . ." _don't belong?_ The thought stung, he did not deserve this chance he had been given. He shook his head sharply, leveling a rebellious glare on the being he had held such devotion to for so long. "I didn't have a choice!"_

_The blonde scoffed, shaking her head, "You had a choice. You let her take the other you, the one who belonged. She took him away from this world, far from my reach and left __**you **__in his place. You do not belong here, you are as much a trespasser as the Calamity herself. This is __**my **__planet and I do not welcome you!"_

"_Then what do you plan to do?" Genesis snapped, throwing out his arm. "Do you plan to destroy me for the actions of someone else? I have done __**nothing **__to you. To punish me for the actions of another would make you no better than Jenova."_

_The beautiful face twisted in disgusted rage, "How __**dare **__you!"_

_He glared back at her, but despite his rage, he was able to clearly see as her own anger faded into resignation. The Goddess was not merely composed of love, life and compassion, she was also a being of rage, death and apathy. In a way, she was as human as he._

"_I may not like it, but you are right. I should not punish one for the actions of another." Her pale eyes gazed on him contemplatively. "I warn you now, Genesis Rhapsodos, if my son falls because I let you live, I will have vengeance, not only on you, but on all you know."_

_The light rose up about the brunette before he could respond, blinding and tossing him in a way that evoked memories of the last time he had met her . . . such a short time ago._

The scent of roses invaded his nostrils and he sighed, shifting slightly as he strained his ears to listen. There was no trace of Angeal, though he could smell the vestiges of herbs in the air. His friend had returned and gone already then. How long had he been asleep? Stretching out his neck and shoulders he rose, a content groan escaping his lips at the almost forgotten ache of healthy uninjured muscle flexing after hours of stillness. It was sheer _bliss _to move with that warm ache rather than the constant cold pain of his rotting flesh.

A glance about told him it was well into the night, the clock telling him it was in fact early the next morning. _Goddess, _he had slept for nigh on twenty hours, why had Angeal not woken him?

A thought struck him and he practically dove to the floor, scrambling for his red duster and delving a hand into an inner pocket while carefully avoiding the blood. His fingers came away curled around the cover of not one, but _two _books, both were white, embossed in the same fashion, the title _Loveless _inscribed across the covers. However, he knew the difference between the two intimately even before he flipped open one and let the other fall to the floor.

Rather than the machine–printed lines of the beloved prophetical play, dates and hand-written letters glared back at him in dark ink that had not yet had the time to fade. He flipped through the pages, searching, and froze as he found the correct date.

**εуλ**_** 2000, July 22 **_

_**Neither Potions nor Materia are working, while the wound may be small, it has me concerned. It was merely a ShinRa Longsword! Angeal would never place an enchantment on the blade of any sort, so I cannot blame the broken edge for this anomaly. To my despair, Angeal found me as I bound the wound and I have agreed to see Hollander tomorrow to have it examined. Perhaps the man knows something, why it does not heal. Likely it will heal on it's own, but this is worrying, will all my injuries react so now? Is battle-healing now useless to me?**_

That was it. Genesis stared down at the page and slowly let it fall shut. Yesterday he was supposed to meet with Hollander, though he had only agreed to staunch his brother's concern. He was sincerely surprised that he had not been torn awake and bodily escorted to the labs for examination when he didn't wake again after a few hours. He started as he realized his right hand had snaked up to touch the pale expanse of flesh where the wound had rested.

He chuckled.

His shoulder was _bare _and he had lain atop the sheets on his opposite side. The fact that the bedroom door was once again ajar and the coverlet drawn over his body told of how the younger man had come in and no doubt seen the lack of a wound.

Feeling an ache in his stomach, he chuckled again. Hunger-pains. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel only that. As the degradation worsened, he'd often forgotten to eat simply because he couldn't separate the two types of pain. Before he knew it, the brunette found himself removing a covered pot from within his refrigerator and setting it on the stove to reheat.

He was _starving._

Rather than stare at the contents of the pot as the heat slowly seeped into the opaque liquid, he retreated to the bathroom for a shower. He was tempted to take a bath instead but decided that could wait until _after _he wasn't hungry enough to eat his coat, blood and all. Besides, he didn't want the soup to burn, he had _missed _Angeal's cooking dearly.

He pulled on a clean uniform, then added his pauldrons to complete the full basic First Class uniform with a lingering glance at his bed. There was no point in trying to mend the coat further, he would simply commission a new one, it was not as if he had not done so before. The modification of the Cure spell to heal once-living leather had been useful in the past few years as a renegade, but the number of scar-like lines left behind without adding those from his latest battle with Zack would be guaranteed notice by others. The kind of notice he wanted to avoid.

It felt odd to be wearing the uniform without his coat after so long, but it was a welcome oddity. He'd only started wearing his coat ten years ago . . . three now. Now _that _would take some getting used to. Forgoing a spoon, he took a bowl from the cupboard and poured the soup directly from the pot. He paused for a moment, taking in the familiar scent. This was real, even without Minerva's 'visit' to his dream, the scent of Angeal's Get-Well-Soon Vegetable Soup proved it.

Raising the bowl to his lips, the SOLDIER sighed as the hot fluid hit his tongue. Yes, this was real.

Now what was he supposed to do about it?

From what Minerva had said, he could safely say that the blood he'd collected contained Jenova Cells, active ones, not the dead cells he and Angeal had been treated with. _Unless she was lying…?_ He paused mid-sip and stared down at the soup. No. She hadn't lied to him. What reason would she have? He shook his head and topped off the bowl with the last from the pot.

Ten minutes later, he found himself out in the halls, the weight of his false-cover journal in his hands. Every door he passed, every corner he turned around . . . he could see the damage in his mind's eye. He paused before one particular stretch of wall and remembered how he'd been able to see the night sky so clearly through the hole his own blade had cut through plaster and steel and insulation.

Echoes of the future. . .

He glanced down at the book in his hands, he'd thought of leaving it in the apartment hidden away, but it was even more dangerous than his blood-drenched coat. Were anyone to find it and read the passages of the days and months and years to come . . . he shook his head, it wouldn't do to dwell on that.

_Shiing! Thunpt. Shhthh._

_Clang! Shrick! Shii-shik._

What on Gaea . . .? Seeing a door to his right, he opened it a few more inches and looked inside. The mats and racks about the large room told him he'd come across one of the PT rooms. To one side, two figures were moving, each with a silvery blade in hand . . . Mythril Sabers. He couldn't make out much detail in the dim light, but could tell that neither was that tall, and they both lacked the bulk of most SOLDIERs and Army. He doubted that either one had reached their 18th birthday. The shorter of the two was light-haired, seeming as silver as that of the General in the pale light. As he watched, the light-haired one attacked the taller, but his opponent stood firm, parrying each strike with minimal movement.

"Bra! Bra!" the defender cried out in delight, and he was startled to realize it was a young _woman_. Her fair-haired opponent backed away, lowering his blade as he caught his breath. The girl only gave him a moment before raising her own blades to fall into a familiar starting stance, "Igen!"

_Iclandic? _Genesis' eyes widened in surprise. The accent and foreign words were unmistakable, she was from the Northern Continent. Possibly even the coastal city of Vimur itself, judging by how smooth her accent was compared to strong twang of the more isolated towns.

Her opponent brandished his practice blade and attacked one again, but the brunette was surprised to find that while he recognized some of the single strokes, he did not recognize the sequence itself. It wasn't any of those taught amongst the SOLDIERs . . . nor did it quite have the fluidity of long practice.

They must be Recruits then, up hours before morning PT to practice together . . . a grin formed on his face. Now didn't that bring back memories? He thought back to his own early morning practices with Angeal, sneaking out of their respective barracks and trying not to wake their supervisors. How many times had he frozen in fear as he watched the taciturn man in charge of his squad shift in his sleep as he snuck past him?

Grinning at the memory, he crossed his arms and settled against the door frame to watch. If these two were any good at all . . . they'd make it far in SOLDIER with this kind of drive for success. After all . . . he and Angeal had made it to First Class hadn't they?

**0-1-2-3-4-5**

* * *

**Omake: Strength of Epsilon (AKA The Scene That Almost Was)**

The Crimson Commander paused mid-step as he heard someone speaking and instinctively ducked back into the shadows as he noted the small group of people only a few meters away. They hadn't seemed to notice him and he frowned slightly, only for his brows to rise as he realized his aimless steps had brought him to the Non-SOLDIER barracks.

"Go back to bed, Youngsen, this is between us and him."

"Yeah, way to make me back off." The drawling female voice made him smirk. "You could at least _try _to pronounce my name, Adlersflügel, it's no harder than your own to pronounce."

"Why you . . ."

An outright chuckle cut off his threat and Genesis' smirk widened, he _liked _this girl. She had spunk. "Bluster all you want, you dragged my bunkmate out of bed and expected me _not _to get involved? _Pucko._"

While he didn't recognize the word, the boy obviously took it offensively and lunged forward. Spinning anticlockwise, she hooked her right arm around his elbow and the slammed her left into his belly, bending into the movement she gave a tug and threw him over her shoulder onto the floor. The taller of the two remaining figures lunged at her from behind with a shout, in response she spun on her feet and kicked out, her bare foot colliding with his sternum and causing him to let loose a sharp gasp as he fell back.

As the boy sat there groaning, she straightened and crossed her arms. Glancing back at her first victim with a snort as she noted he was still sprawled on his back. "A Hook-Point Throw and a Snap-Dragon? Seriously? You two have less bite than I thought. . . . I learned those when I was _seven._"

"We'll report you!"

"And say what? That you got beaten by a girl in less than five seconds?" she drawled, chuckled again. "You're not nearly secure enough in your masculinity to say that."

**0-1-2-3-4-5**

**Iclandic(Swedish) Translations (Please feel encouraged to fix any mistakes I made!) (THANK YOU! stepbystep!)  
**_Bra! - _Good  
_Igen _- Again!  
_Pucko _- slang word for 'idiot', also the name of a classic swedish drink made from milk, sugar and chocolate.

**A/N: **_A note to all, I am searching for a Beta Reader, and also, I am constructing 'Soundtracks' for each of my stories, (the lists are on my profile) and will take all song suggestions into consideration. So . . . now you've had a glimpse of the first OC for BBE, here's hoping you all don't hate her._


	3. 02 A Step Off the Beaten Path

**A/N: **_Okay, originally, this was going to come out back in October, thanks to Alzipher motivating me in her special way to work on this. However, when I reached 1400 words, I __**lost the damn file. **__gah. And then all my FFVII muses disappeared from my mind, __**completely. **__–pouts- Of course, then, in December, new muses were spawned in the form of Tales of Symphonia characters . . . currently, Chaos is fending off my ToS muses with Death Penalty, while Seph is helping me wake up my various FF muses. Oddly enough... my Genesis muse seems to be wearing a lab coat and glasses…-eyes him warily-_

_Oh! And did I forget to mention that I lost access to my entire hard-drive this past October? My dad left my PC open in the basement for two days while I was out-of-town and when I tried to turn it on, two of the transistors on the motherboard started leaking. Needless to say, I won't be able to recover the files on it until we buy another computer._

_Brotherhood will be Chapter 4 (though the title may still change!), however, Suetsukata won't necessarily be Chapter 5, I have yet to decide if I want to slip another chapter or two between them._

_I'm not sure how long it'll be until I work on the next chapter, as I'd like to work on a chapter of ReWrite first._

_Also, __**stepbystep**__, you are awesome and I thank you for your language assistance. I have not studied Swedish, it is a recent addition to the list of languages that fascinate me (including Japanese, Gaelic, German and Latin)_

**Reno: **hehehe

**Me: **… Stop sneaking into my mind, Turk!

**Reno: **But it's such a challenge! ;p

**Me: **You have five seconds before I send Seph after you.

**Reno: **Baby General? Pftt. Like he can catch me.

**Me: **Lilith can though.

**Reno: **-stares- You'd really sic the Director of Wyvern on me? A woman who's practically a _goddess _herself? You are one evil woman.

**Me: **You're just realizing this _now?_ And here I thought you were moderately observant.

**0-1-2-3-4-5**

**Not a Dream**

**Behind Blue Eyes  
**

"**A Step Off the Beaten Path"**

**0-1-2-3-4-5**

* * *

"_Ripples form on the water's surface."  
__**~Loveless, Act I**_

"_We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths."  
__**~Walt Disney**_

* * *

It really wasn't very fair. The blonde thought as he back-stepped to avoid one of the taller girl's parries. Not only was she taller with a longer reach, her body had been toned from years of learning hand-to-hand combat. Though they had both signed up for the program on the same day, the older teen seemed to have an advantage over him in all avenues.

Not to mention, she was using _two _swords against his one.

He pressed his weight into his left foot and lunged forward, swinging the saber around to strike at her right flank . . . only to have it glance off an identical saber as she moved out of the way. Thrown off-balance, he fell to the mat and released his sword to avoid injuring himself. A good-hearted chuckle met his ears, leading him to look up and meet blue eyes as dark as his were light. Switching her blades to one hand, she held out the other and pulled him to his feet.

"_God narbete_." She grinned at him and he felt a spike of jealousy at how composed she was in comparison to him. She was breathing hard, yes, but nowhere near as hard as he was. The strawberry blonde looked as if she could keep going for another hour, where-as a good push would have him on the floor again. "You're getting better."

"You really think so?"

"Definitely." She nodded firmly and then dropped her hand to his shoulder. "Why don't you take your break, I think you've had enough for this morning."

It was a phrase that completed in his mind before she even finished speaking, she had said that every time he'd practiced with her. It wasn't always the same words, but it was always the same idea: Go rest up so you don't fall behind in PT.

In his mind he knew that she was right, he wasn't strong enough yet to go on as long as she did. He didn't have her strength, or her endurance. In his heart though, he was jealous, and he knew it. He was pretty sure she knew it as well, but he _was _grateful to her.

She didn't have to help him, there was no real reason for her to stand up for him. They weren't related by blood or marriage, they'd grown up in completely different terrain. She was a city girl, he was a country boy. They had nothing in common.

They were bunk-mates.

The only female of the twenty Recruits in Squad C, and she slept on the top of his bunk bed. He might be jealous of her, but he had to admit he felt kind of lucky to be not only her student, but her friend.

He nodded, bending down and retrieving his own sword and walking to the racks. Stretches were next, and the blonde closed his eyes as he went through them one after another, taking his time and ignoring the sound of his tutor's blades cutting air, her bare feet padding across the mats.

"Do you two do this often?" the smooth voice cut through his thoughts and he jerked in surprise, nearly tumbling to the floor, looking at the voice, his mouth dropped open slightly at the sight of a black SOLDIER uniform. A First Class!

He started to stand at attention, but a wave had him stopping before he could truly begin. The brunette stared at him before he remembered the question. "Yes, sir."

"Your name?"

"...Are we in trouble sir?"

"No." he relaxed a little at the smile he found directed towards him and proffered a half-smile back.

"Cloud Strife, sir."

"And her?" the SOLDIER nodded his head towards the still-practicing girl and Cloud turned to look at her, seeing that she had now discarded her blades in favor of hand-to-hand work.

"Ruth Llungson."

"You're both Recruits?"

"Yes, sir." Cloud paused for a moment, glancing away self-consciously before adding, "We're applicants for SOLDIER."

The man glanced at the clock on the far wall and straightened, giving the blonde a farewell nod. Cloud stared after the man in slight confusion. What . . . was that all about?

**0-1-2-3-4-5**

_Cloud Strife . . ._

Genesis thought back, trying to recall why that name was familiar, the girl's was less so but still gave a minor sense of déjà vu. He was certain neither had gotten into SOLDIER, something that seemed odd. The boy might not be that strong, but he was still young, the potential for SOLDIER was there . . . and the girl, Llungson, she already moved with a fighter's grace. Certainly she would have risen quickly in the ranks once Mako was . . .

That was it.

Mako.

Strife . . . he was the boy that defeated Sephiroth. The one that had spent years in Hojo's hands alongside Zack. A chuckle escaped him and he found himself glad that the halls were still empty. Potential for SOLDIER indeed. He'd have to keep on eye on the blond teen this time around. With proper training . . . he could make First in only a few years.

And then there was Miss Llungson . . . Genesis stepped into the elevator and leaned against the reinforced glass as it rose.

She was only . . . . about 15 and already moved with the grace of a fighter. Obviously she had trained for some time before coming to Midgar. She should have had no problem getting into SOLDIER, yet, he knew her name had _not _been on the list of recruits he had recommended for SOLDIER in his final report to Lazard the first time around. The question was . . . why?

The door chimed and he looked up, only to lurch to the side as another body _lunged _into the elevator so fast he hit the glass with a wince-worthy smack. The redhead immediately pushed off the wall and slapped the Close Doors button, and even as Genesis stared incredulously at the man, he spotted a pair of women running towards them with furious faces before the doors clicked shut.

The redhead slumped to the floor with a sigh of relief, then glanced up at him, grinning with a mock salute, "Hey man."

"The Director will be very unhappy with you." He commented wryly, slipping the disguised journal into the crook of his arm as he folded them over his chest.

"Like that's anything new." Reno shrugged and stood, brushing his rumpled suit off and then giving the brunette SOLDIER a considering look. "What happened to your duster?"

"Cleaners." Genesis gave his wrinkled 'uniform' a wary glance, "Just as that suit should be."

"Eh?" Aquamarine eyes blinked and he pulled the shirt up to sniff at it, then shrugged noncommittally. "Still smells fine, good enough for me."

The Commander rolled his eyes at that statement and wrinkled his nose in distaste, finding the idea of wearing any article of clothing more than a day in succession far more appalling than it had once been. He had always been one for cleanliness, but having been limited to the one outfit during his degradation . . . had left him with a keen appreciation for clean clothes.

Before any further conversation could be initiated, the doors opened to floor 51 and Genesis stepped out, not bothering to give the redheaded Turk a further glance. Though he heard him mutter something about giving someone named Cierra time to cool off before the doors shut once again. Undoubtedly the name of one of the two women who had been chasing him with death in their eyes.

It didn't take him long to find the right door, sliding his keycard through the lock almost mindlessly and pushing the door open. Unlike most of the rooms on the 51st floor – which had automated sliding doors – the office was installed with a classic swinging door. It was still metal, but it wouldn't hold up against the strength of a SOLDIER 1st.

Stepping into the office was like a step back in time, as much so as it had been to see Angeal and have a part of him acknowledge the impossibility of this new reality. The second-to-last time he had been in this office, it had the feel of _use, _that incorporeal sensation of someone spending hours of time performing tasks. Where-as his apartment was a comforting refuge, a place where he could hide away from the rank-and-file, this office had been where he spent much of his daily hours. This place held more of an imprint of himself than his apartment ever could.

The last time he had been in this office, it was all but empty, a simple desk and a wheel-less chair. A room that had been emptied of memories and not yet been given the opportunity to absorb new ones . . .

Eying the dark leather chair and the glass-topped mahogany desk, a matching couch set against a wall beside a resilient potted plant . . . he nearly forgot why he had come.

Setting aside his melancholy, he set the Journal down on the desk and took a seat, gloved fingers pressing the power button on the computer resting to one side. Genesis waited impatiently as it hummed to life, reaching down and pulling open the drawer to reveal a pile of recent reports. A few were written in his own hand, but others were either from 2nd and 3rd Class SOLDIERs under his command, or copies of the Bi-Weekly progress reports.

He skimmed those reports, allowing them to pull his old memories back to the surface. Searching his mind for faces to match the names he was reading . . . the computer beeped at him, alerting him to new messages. There was a newsletter, and a notice about an upcoming play down on the plate, but other than that it was only copies of reports from those under his command.

Except for one. The Banoran frowned at a message dated the previous morning. The subject line was blank, and the name of the sender had been corrupted or encrypted, leaving only a series of innocuous rectangles. Clicking on the message, he found only two short lines.

_Remember to brush up on your history._

_good luck_

The lack of capitalization on the last line led him to believe it had been tagged on at the last moment. As if the sender had thought twice about their well-wishes. Was this from his fellow time-traveler, then? It was an innocent enough missive . . . Genesis let his eyes fall on the disguised journal that he had had commissioned years ago as a reward to himself for becoming a Third Class.

The white leather made the slim volume seem so innocent, a pure creation that held only beauty rather than guile. An uninformed glance would never guess that it held such powerful words in it's pages, words that if wielded properly could do more damage than any blade. So much knowledge, knowledge that could change the world for better or worse . . . and he was the lone wielder.

It was the burden of a god on the shoulders of a man. Could _any _man bear such a burden alone?

He reached up absently and tapped his dangling earring, his sharp hearing picking up the muted ever-so-slight shift of the vial hidden within.

A determined light in his pale eyes, the Crimson Commander reached out and took the book in his hands, once more cracking it open, this time flipping back to the beginning of that year. His eyes flicked over the words he had written five years ago, each phrase triggering memories, bringing what were now recent experiences back to the surface of his mind. He wasn't certain he could succeed in this endeavor . . .

. . . but he would sure as hell try.

After all . . . didn't he want to be the hero?

* * *

**Extra Scene – Brothers-In-Arms**

Angeal closed and locked Genesis' apartment door behind him, musing over what he had found in his brief visit. It had been empty, the food he had cooked for his friend gone, dishes washed and drying in the rack beside the sink. There had been no sign of the older man in the rooms, his favored tall black leather boots still resting by the door. It seemed he had chosen to wear his Class-issued ones for a change.

That change in itself was one for mild concern. Rarely did the brunette choose to wear the plain black boots, finding them 'lacking in elegance.' He shook his head, perhaps it had simply been a whim, and nothing to worry over.

"How is Genesis?" Angeal lifted his head at the questioning tone and found with only minor surprise that Sephiroth was also standing by the elevator.

"It seems he left early." He paused, interrupted by the opening of the elevator doors and stepped inside beside the General. "I'm not surprised, he apparently slept through all of yesterday."

"An entire day? That is unlike him." Sephiroth frowned, brow furrowing in a show of concern. He carefully measured his words before speaking again. "Was he sick?"

"I'm not sure." Angeal crossed his arms and considered the state he had found his old friend in the day before. Could an illness have caused the delayed healing of that injury? He had never heard of such a thing. Though he had certainly _seemed _ill.

He was tempted to speak of the mystery surrounding the injury from their spar, but held back. It was healed, there was no need to bother Sephiroth with something that was already gone.

There was nothing to be concerned over . . . yet.

**0-1-2-3-4-5**

**Iclandic/Swedish Translations (Please feel encouraged to fix any mistakes I made!)**

_God narbete – _Good job / Good work

**A/N:** _Seriously, Reno barged into this chapter without any warning. One moment my brain was stuck in 'Gen is musing' mode, the next I had a redhead bouncing in one side of my brain and then out the other._

_Also, I am willing to consider any requests on future Extra Scenes / Omakes, within reason. I'm going to try to make a habit of tagging them onto the end._


End file.
